


Letting Go

by Redvines1595



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Harry Potter Crossover - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Hogwarts, Potter!Lock, wizard!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redvines1595/pseuds/Redvines1595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock stopped using magic in order to let John into his life. However, everything changes on their son's 11th birthday. Will John be able to let it go? Parent!lock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, I do not own the greatness that is both Sherlock and Harry Potter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story. I may or may not be bringing in some of our favorite HP characters. And I do not apologize for any angst or possible feels this story may cause you. Enjoy!

He didn't know.

He didn't know about Sherlock's secret until after he had returned from the dead. If that's any way to describe it.

He didn't believe him.

He didn't believe that magic existed. It was impossible, against everything that Sherlock stood for.

It was a trick.

Sherlock was playing a trick on him. How could he? Two years of waiting, of mourning his death and the bastard thought it would be okay to play a trick on him.

It was real.

Magic was more real than he could have ever imagined. Sherlock could transfigure anything into something else with just a quick flick of his wand.

That's how he did it.

Arresto Momentum. Sherlock demonstrated the spell for him, dropping his mug and stopping it just before it could shatter on the hard floor.

He was back.

Back in his arms at last, after months of tears and heartbreak.

 

Twelve years. Twelve years since Sherlock's return and John couldn't be any happier. They laid in bed, wrapped around each other. A rare occasion these days.

Sherlock didn't always sleep when he held John in his arms. Instead, he watched the gentle rise and fall of his partner's chest as he snored softly. It was moments like this that made him smile ever so slightly, his eyes shining with nothing but love.

John reveled in the warmth of Sherlock's body next to him, fisting the soft fabric of his t-shirt in his hands. He wished that the two of them could stay there forever, just holding each other, but that dream soon ended when he heard their bedroom door open with a soft creak. A small hand was placed on his shoulder, nudging him until he opened his eyes.

The doctor turned his head with a small a small groan as he was awoken from his slumber. "Yes, what is it, Hamish?"

Much to John's dismay, Sherlock released him from his arms and sat up to look at the dark haired boy. He noticed their son's hands, obviously hiding something behind his back, before a bright smile spread across his face. The detective practically leaped from the bed, throwing the covers off of him as he went over to Hamish and pulled him into a tight embrace. He then knelt down and gently took the boy's face in his hands, his smile never faltering. "Hamish, I am so proud of you."

The boy's face lit up at his father's words. Hamish knew how much SHerlock loved him, but it wasn't very often that he expressed it in such a manner.

John finally sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he spoke groggily. "Sherlock, what's going on?" It had been years since he'd seen him this happy.

"Go on, Hamish," Sherlock said, still smiling. "Tell him."

Hamish turned to John, running his fingers through his dark curls nervously. His dad had never really been much for the whole "magic" thing and he worried about how he would react to his news. "Well…" He chewed on his lip. "Today is my birthday."

John smiled softly and ruffled the boy's hair. "Yes, I know. Did you honestly think I could forget something as important as my son's birthday?"

Hamish smiled back as he played with the envelope in his hands. "But, Dad. You don't understand. It's my eleventh birthday."

He furrowed his brows at the boy before glancing up at Sherlock, who was still smiling proudly. What was so special about turning eleven? He shook his head with a shrug. "Sorry, Hamish. You've lost me."

"Oh, for God's sake, John!" Sherlock huffed with a dramatic roll of his eyes as he stalked out of their bedroom.

John sighed softly to himself. "Hamish, stay here, please," he said before going after Sherlock. He found him staring out the window, hands carefully folded behind his back. "Sherlock, do we really have to do this? On his birthday, of all days?"

"You forgot, John," he replied simply, not taking his eyes off the busy street below. "You insist that he live a normal, boring, muggle life and then, on the most important day of his childhood, forget everything. You've forgotten what he is, what I am. You can't hide from it, John. It's who we are."

John stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before letting out a soft sigh. "I'm scared, Sherlock."

Those three small words were enough to cause the detective to turn around in confusion, his eyes scanning over the other man's compact frame. "Scared," his nose wrinkled as he said it. "Why on earth would you be scared?"

John swallowed, staring down at the floor, avoiding Sherlock's gaze, as he thought over his words. Finally, he looked up with a small chuckle. "I… I'm scared because our little boy is growing up. He'll be going away to school. We'll only be able to see him once every few months… He's leaving us, Sherlock. I just don't know what to do with that." He couldn't stand to meet Sherlock's eyes due to his embarrassment.

Sherlock's face softened at John's words. Was this really what he had been so worried about? Hamish going off to school? He sighed softly before going over to the doctor, carefully wrapping his long arms around him. "You should have told me," he whispered against John's slightly graying, sandy blonde hair.

"I know," he whispered back, sliding his arms around the taller man's waist. "It's just… What if something happens to him at school and we're not there to help him? What if the other kids pick on him? What if he gets hurt? What if-"

Sherlock silenced John's rambling thoughts by pressing their lips together in a gentle, loving, reassuring kiss. When he pulled back, he held John's face carefully in his hands as he stared into his blue eyes. "Stop worrying. He'll be fine. He is our son, after all," he said with a small smirk.

"Dad? Father?" They both turned around at the sound of their son's timid voice and found him cautiously poking his head around the corner. They knew how much he hated it when they fought and he was often the only voice of reason. He could stop their arguments with a single word.

John smiled at Hamish and pulled away from Sherlock to go over to him. "There he is!" He said as he pulled the boy into his embrace. "Happy birthday, Hamish." He released Hamish and nodded at the letter he was still holding in his hands. "Mind if I take a look at that?"

Hamish simply shook his head with a smile as he held the letter out to his dad. John took it in his hands and pulled the rough parchment from its envelope. Sherlock peered over his shoulder, reading it with a smug smile on his lips.

Finally, John finished reading and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Congratulations, Hamish. I'm so proud of you." He smiled softly and gently kissed the dark curls on top of Hamish's head. The little boy smiled back with delight and hugged both of his parents. "Sherlock, why don't you get his presents and I'll get breakfast started?"

Hamish's smile widened even more as he turned his gaze to his father, who, in return, nodded his head before dashing off to the bedroom. Hamish followed closely behind.

John watched them until they were out of view and slumped down into his chair with a heavy sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

Hamish was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement as he and his parents got ready to go shopping in Diagon Alley. Sherlock had taken him there once or twice when he was younger, but he hadn't been back since John found out. However, with classes starting in a few weeks, John reluctantly agreed to accompany them.

John was terrified. He was going to a place where he would be surrounded by magic folk of all kinds, where he would be looked down upon for being different. He stood in the bathroom, his knuckles white from gripping the counter tightly to keep his hands from shaking as he stared ahead at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, enhancing the lines across his forehead and creases by his eyes. Maybe he could just tell Sherlock that he wasn't feeling well? Or that he got called in to the surgery for work? The more he thought about bailing on their plans, the more guilty he felt. Hamish would be devastated and John had to be there for his little boy.

There was a knock at the door, but John didn't take his eyes off his reflection. "What?" He croaked, his voice hoarse.

He wasn't surprised when Sherlock opened the door and stepped inside, his brows furrowed with concern. "John? You've been in here for almost an hour. We need to leave now if we want to get there before the rush." Sherlock placed his hand on John's back, rubbing it gently.

"I just don't think I'm feeling up to it today…" John replied after a moment.

Sherlock sighed at his words. "Not feeling up to it or don't want to go?"

John bit his lip as he closed his eyes for a moment. "I can't do it, Sherlock. I can't. This is your and Hamish's thing. Not mine."

"He wants you there, John. He wants to share this experience with you. It doesn't matter if you're magical or not. You're his dad and he wants you to come with us."

John opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by the sound of their son's voice. "Dad, come on! We need to go before all the shops fill up!"

John glanced at Sherlock, who was giving him the puppy-eyed look that he had always tried so hard to resist, and let out a heavy sigh of defeat. "I'll be right there, Hamish." Sherlock smiled and pressed a light kiss to John's cheek before going off to make sure that Hamish was all ready to go.

John pulled on his jumper before fixing his hair slightly and went out to meet them. Hamish handed John his coat, gripping his school supply list in his other hand. He took the jacket from his son and pulled it on before stepping into his shoes. They were finally ready to go.

Sherlock had wanted to use the floo network to get there, but John had advised against it. They couldn't scare poor Mrs. Hudson like that. So, the three of them went out to the street and hailed a taxi before piling in. "The Leaky Cauldron," Sherlock told the driver, who sped off towards the other side of London.

John stared blankly out the window as Hamish and Sherlock went over the list, figuring out where they would go first. He ignored them as he tried to calm his nerves.

After what had seemed like forever to John, they had finally arrived at the pub. He paid the driver before getting out of the taxi. He knew that Sherlock wouldn't; he rarely carried muggle money with him, especially on occasions such as these. By the time John had finally gotten out of the taxi, Sherlock and Hamish were already making their way into the pub. However, they would have gotten there sooner if it wasn't for John. Being a muggle, he couldn't get inside without them.

The three of them made their way into the Leaky Cauldron, John glancing around nervously. The pub was filled with people wearing brightly colored robes and cloaks, many of them wearing funny-looking hats. He didn't know what to make of it at first, since it seemed almost comical at first. Who in their right mind would wear those sort of clothes out in public?

As they walked through the pub towards the back door, John couldn't help but notice the menacing looks that some of the patrons were giving him. He subconsciously reached forward and grabbed onto the sleeve of Sherlock's coat. The detective glanced back at him with furrowed brows, but said nothing until they were out in the back alley behind the Leaky Cauldron.

He took hold of John's hand, lacing their fingers together as he pulled his wand out of his coat pocket. He gave him a reassuring smile as he reached out and tapped the brick wall with his wand, waiting to see John's reaction as the bricks began to move aside and open the way to Diagon Alley. The doctor's eyes widened and he squeezed Sherlock's hand, his own shaking.

John stayed close to Sherlock and put his arm protectively around Hamish, who was grinning brightly. "John?" The doctor looked up at Sherlock, chewing his lip as he leant down to gently kiss his cheek. "You'll be fine. I'll be with you the entire time." John nodded his head slowly and they started off into the busy area.

Sherlock led him through the streets, Hamish running ahead of them in excitement. "Hamish, come back here!" John called out to him as Sherlock let out a low chuckle.

"Leave him be, John. Just let him be a kid for once," Sherlock told him.

"Oh, that's funny coming from the one who is constantly making him study or practice playing the violin." He nudged him in the side before frowning slightly. "Sherlock, where, exactly, are we going?"

"To Ollivander's, of course," he replied as if it were the stupidest question he'd heard.

"What's that?" John looked up at him in confusion before looking back at Hamish, making sure he didn't get too far ahead of them.

"Mr. Ollivander is a wandmaker. He's the one who sold me mine when I was eleven."

The doctor nodded his head slowly, noticing the sign for the shop in the distance. Hamish stopped and turned around to look at them with a smile. "Dad! Father! There it is!"

"Go on inside!" Sherlock called back to him. "We'll be right there!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" John asked worriedly.

Sherlock came to a stop with a heavy sigh and turned John to face him, taking both of his hands in his own. "John, this is normal. All of this is. I just… I need you to trust me." He carefully brought one of John's hands to his lips, taking in his still worried expression. "You're not still scared, are you?"

John glanced around nervously, not meeting his eyes.

Sherlock let out a sigh and gently turned the doctor's head to make him look at him. "John, you have nothing to be afraid of. I'm right here with you and I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," John replied quietly. "I'm trying, Sherlock. I really am. It's just… With all the stories you've told me… Can you really blame me for being so scared?"

"I would never let anything happen to you. You know that. Now, come on. Hamish has probably gotten his wand by now."

John nodded his head, forcing a small smile. He had to at least try to show that he was happy for his son. Sherlock led him into the shop as Mr. Ollivander was returning a wand to its box and handing it over to Hamish. "You've got your wand picked out, I see?" John asked him.

"No, Dad!" Hamish responded with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't choose it. It chose me."

Sherlock chuckled softly as he went over to pay the man for the wand as John stared at them all in confusion. The three of them left the shop and headed for the bookstore. "Flourish and Blott's," John read the sign aloud. "Interesting names."

"Old wizarding families," Sherlock replied. "Not nearly as old as the Ollivanders, but they've still been around for quite a long time." John nodded his head in understanding as Sherlock turned to their son. "Hamish, why don't you and your dad go browse for a bit while I get your school books?"

The little boy nodded his head with an excited smile as he grabbed his dad's hand and dragged him down one of the many aisles. The two of them found books of all sorts. There were books about dragons and other magical creatures and John could never have dreamed were real. There were books on magical medicine, wand making, famous wizards from every century.

John was reading a book about merpeople aloud to Hamish when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Enjoying yourselves?" Sherlock asked them with a smirk.

John smiled at him slightly as he put the book away, Hamish telling his father all about the different books that they had found. He took Sherlock's hand and the three of them exited the shop.

An hour later and they were nearly finished with their shopping. They had gotten everything that Hamish would need. From quills and parchment, to a cauldron and potion ingredients. They had only one thing left to buy before they could head back to Baker Street.

Hamish pulled his parents along as they made their way to the apothecary. He kept babbling on and on about how he couldn't decide whether he wanted an owl, cat, or toad. John simply listened as Sherlock explained to their son why an owl would be the best choice, and he agreed. How else would they be able to stay in touch with him while he was away at school?

When they had arrived at the apothecary, Hamish quickly made his way over to the owls. John was in awe of how many different breeds that they had there: snowy owls, great horned owls, barn owls. There were so many, he didn't know how Hamish would be able to choose just one.

After Sherlock had given him a synopsis of each of the breeds, Hamish finally chose a beautiful eagle owl. They purchased the bird and decided to take the floo network back home. They didn't know how a taxi driver would react to them having an owl with them.

They used the apothecary's fireplace, Hamish going first with the owl, which he fondly named Archimedes. Next, John and Sherlock stepped into the fireplace together, fingers entwined. "221B Baker Street," Sherlock said as he dropped the floo powder and they were whisked away to their flat.

John was a bit uneasy on his feet at first and nearly fell over when he took a step. But Sherlock kept his arm around his waist to steady him and carefully lowered him down into his chair. Hamish was up in his bedroom, putting his things away in his trunk.

Sherlock sat down on the arm of John's chair and affectionately ran his fingers through the doctor's hair. "Was it as bad as you thought it would be?"

John let out a quiet sigh. "No, but that doesn't mean I'm itching to go back anytime soon."

Sherlock chuckled, gently lifting John's chin and pecking his lips lightly. "I won't force you to go back."

John smiled at him as Hamish came bursting into the room. "Father, I can't find my wand!" Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the wand box, handing it to Hamish who smiled in relief as he took it from him. "Thank you," he said as he ran back upstairs.

John shook his head at the boy. "I swear, he gets more and more like you everyday. I mean, Archimedes? What eleven year old names their owl that? Let alone know who he is."

"He's so much more like you than you think," Sherlock replied. "He was telling me just the other day how he wanted to work at St. Mungo's once he's finished with school."

"I'm sorry, is that supposed to mean something?"

"That's the wizarding hospital, John. He wants to be able to help people. Just like you do."

"And what do you do? Sit around in your house coat all day? Sherlock, you help people, too. Do you have any idea how many lives you've saved? How many times you've saved me?"

"Yes, but I did that because I had to. You do it because you want to."

John let out a heavy sigh, remaining silent for a moment. "Two more weeks until he leaves… I don't know how I'll be able to handle it."

"You'll be alright. I promise. He'll be back before you know it. And know that Mycroft is one of the school governors, we'll always know how he's doing, if he's getting into trouble."

John nodded before resting his head against Sherlock's side. He silently hoped that Hamish would change his mind and no longer want to go away to Hogwarts, but he knew that would never happen.


	3. Chapter 3

The days leading up to September first were very difficult for John. While Sherlock helped Hamish pack up his things, John remained seated in his chair, staring ahead blankly. Of course, he never acted like that around their son. He couldn't let him see him like that. However, the hard part was hiding his feeling from Sherlock. That man could read John like an open book, but he didn't want Sherlock to know how much he hated all of this.

The night before Hamish was to leave for Hogwarts, John and Sherlock laid awake in their bed. John kept his back to the detective, who was staring up at the ceiling with his hands steepled, and let out a heavy sigh as he squeezed his eyes shut. He had to stop thinking about it. It's not like their son was leaving forever. He opened his eyes once more as Sherlock broke the silence between them. "He's leaving tomorrow, you know."

"Yes," John replied hoarsely and cleared his throat. "I'm aware."

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke again. "I've never seen him this happy before, John." The doctor said nothing in return. "He wishes you'd be happy for him, too. And don't say that you are; he sees right through your facade."

John bit his lip softly, silently cursing himself for treating his own son like that. He felt the bed shift slightly as Sherlock rolled onto his side, wrapping his arm around John's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. "What happened to our conversation in Diagon Alley?" He asked him softly.

"I don't want him to go, Sherlock," he replied quietly. "He's just a boy."

"As was I when I left for Hogwarts. It's a rite of passage, John."

John let out a heavy sigh. "Are you sure he'll be alright?"

"Positive," Sherlock replied. John nodded his head slowly and closed his eyes, finally able to fall asleep with the assurance.

John was awoken the next morning by the smell of something burning. He rolled over to find that Sherlock was no longer in bed, his eyes widening. "Sherlock?!" He called out as he bolted from the room and into the kitchen. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw both Sherlock and Hamish were perfectly fine.

Sherlock looked at him with a raised brow as he set a plate of burnt bacon on the table. "Yes?"

John furrowed his brows, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "You… You made breakfast?"

The detective smirked. "Thought I'd let you sleep in." He sat down next to Hamish and unfolded the morning paper before taking a sip of his coffee. "Have a seat, John."

He looked at his family with a small smile and sat down as Hamish took a few pieces of bacon and offered him a piece. "No, thank you," John shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He ignored the look of indignation that Sherlock gave him. "So, Hamish, are you all packed?"

The boy nodded his head with a grin. "Father helped me get everything ready. I've got all of my books, my clothes, my owl…"

John zoned out as Hamish went on about school. It was good to see him so happy. After a while, he excused himself from the table to go and take a quick shower. By the time he was done, Hamish and Sherlock were ready to go. While Hamish went down to say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, his parents brought his trunk out to the taxi that was waiting for them at the curb. They loaded the trunk and got inside just as Hamish ran out of the building, joining them in the taxi. "King's Cross, please," Sherlock told the driver and they were off.

John held Sherlock's hand as he watched the streets London pass by through the window. He was still a bit nervous about the situation, but he would be able to contain it until they returned to the flat.

When they finally arrived at the train station, Hamish was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Sherlock got the trunk from the back of the taxi while John paid the driver. Once they were all set, the trio made their way into the station.

"What platform?" John asked as they walked past platforms six and seven.

"Nine and three quarters," Hamish replied enthusiastically as he pushed his trunk along in the trolley.

"Don't be silly, Hamish. It doesn't exist."

"Doesn't it?" Sherlock replied with a raised brow. They stopped between platforms nine and ten and he went over to their son, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Now, Hamish, I want you to run straight ahead into the wall. Make sure you get up to a good speed. We don't want to scare the muggles, now, do we?"

"Sherlock!" John stared at him in disbelief. "You can't just tell our son to run straight into a wall! He could seriously hurt himself!"

"Oh, hush, John," Sherlock replied with a sideways glance at him. "Go ahead, Hamish."

Hamish looked back at his parents before running towards the wall and disappearing into it. John's jaw dropped at the sight. "Where… Where did he go?"

"Platform nine and three quarters," Sherlock answered him with a smirk and took his hand tightly in his own. "Are you ready, John?"

"Ready? Ready for what?" The mischievous gleam in the detective's eyes gave him his answer. "No. Absolutely not. I am not running into that wall. It probably wouldn't even work for me!"

"Do you trust me?"

John looked at him, fear evident in his eyes. "Y-Yes. Of course, I do."

Sherlock smiled and gave him a quick kiss. "On the count of three, then… One… Two… Three!"

John held on tightly to Sherlock's hand as they ran straight towards the wall. He squeezed his eyes just before impact. Nothing happened. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his jaw dropping as he took in the sights of the wizarding platform. A bright red engine blew its whistle while parents said their goodbyes. He looked over to find Sherlock helping Hamish load his things onto the train. He let out a sigh as he watched them wistfully.

"Sending off your first one, huh?"

John turned to see a man with messy, raven-black hair and round glasses. "How could you tell?"

"You look the same way I felt when we sent off our first," the man answered him with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't worry about him. He'll be fine. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world."

"I just can't help it," John replied. "It seems like just yesterday that we were bringing him home for the first time."

The man nodded his head slowly. "I know that it's difficult at first, but I promise you that it gets better."

"Thanks," john said with a small smile."

"Oh, I'm Harry, by the way," he extended his hand towards him. "Harry Potter."

"John Watson," he replied, shaking Harry's hand firmly. He glanced over to see Hamish and Sherlock making their way towards them. "Well, that's my family. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Harry smiled at him. "Good luck, John." With that, he headed back towards his own family.

"Who was that?" Hamish asked when they returned to him.

"Some man named Harry Potter," John replied with a shrug.

Hamish stared up at him in disbelief. "You met Harry Potter?!" John furrowed his brows at him in confusion.

"I'll explain later," Sherlock whispered to him before turning to Hamish. "The train will be leaving any moment now." Hamish smiled at him happily before giving him a hug. Sherlock returned it half-heartedly. "Good luck with your studies and don't get yourself into too much trouble." He smirked at the glare John gave him.

Hamish then hugged John, who nearly suffocated him with his embrace. "You be careful, okay? And you'd better write to us every week."

"Don't worry about me, Dad. I'll be fine. Promise." The boy look up at his dad with a smile as the whistle blew once more. After one final goodbye, he ran off to get on board.

As the train began to move, Hamish stuck his head out of the window and waved at his parents. John took Sherlock's hand as they waved goodbye to their son. Sherlock looked at him with a small smile before turning his gaze to the train, watching until it was out of sight. "Are you alright?" He asked John.

The doctor nodded his head. "Yeah. I think I will be."


	4. Chapter 4

John sat in his chair, reading the newspaper as Sherlock conducted some sort of experiment involving hydrochloric acid and fingers. Just a usual day at 221B Baker Street. 

The doctor looked up from his newspaper at the soft sound of someone, or something, tapping at the window. Folding the paper neatly, he stood up and went over to the window to draw back the curtains. But there was no one there. He heard the tapping noise once more and looked down to see an owl sitting outside on the sill. “Archimedes,” John said quietly to himself.

He bent over to open the window and the eagle owl flew into the flat, perching on the arm of John’s chair. John went over to the bird, noting the envelope it held in its beak. He took it, gently running his fingers down the owl’s back. It was addressed to him and Sherlock, and the handwriting, it had to be Hamish’s. 

“Hey, Sherlock,” John called out to him. “Would you come here for a minute?”

“Not now, John,” the consulting detective replied. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“We’ve got a letter from Hamish.” That was enough for Sherlock to stop what he was doing to go to John’s side. Sherlock gently wrapped his arm around John’s waist and took the letter from him, opening it swiftly. “Well?” John asked impatiently. “What’s it say?”

Sherlock smiled softly as he began to read aloud.

 

“Dear Dad and Father,

 

Hogwarts is amazing! When we got to Hogsmeade, a huge man with a great, bushy beard (it turns out that he teaches the care of magical creatures) lead all of us first years to the docks. I got in a little boat with four other boys and we rode in them all the way to the castle. You should’ve seen it! The castle was all lit up and there were so many stars. I’d never seen so many before!

When we got inside, we all waited outside the Great Hall until Professor Longbottom (he teaches herbology) came to let us all in. We had to stand at the front of the room with everyone watching us. Everyone around me seemed to be really nervous about the sorting, but I wasn’t. I was so excited when he finally called my name. I sat up on the stool and he put the sorting hat on my head. I could hear it talking in my head! It kept going on and on about how I am very intelligent. It almost put me into Ravenclaw, but then it changed its mind. It thought that my intelligence might help me better in Slytherin. And then it told me I’ve got a lot of courage, just like Dad. It said that that was exactly the type of thing it was looking for, something that wasn’t completely obvious. So, the sorting hat put me into Gryffindor, just like Dad would have been in if he’d gone to Hogwa-”

 

Sherlock stopped speaking. “John? Are you alright?”

John nodded his head as he wiped at his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You’re crying. What is it?” Sherlock looked at him, his brows furrowed in worry.

“Really, Sherlock. I’m fine. It’s just… “ John smiled slightly as more tears fell from his eyes.

Sherlock finally understood. “He’s more like you than you thought. He doesn’t just take after me. He’s brave and caring, just like you. He always has been. You just never saw it like everyone else did.” He dropped the letter onto John’s chair and pulled him into his arms, gently pressing his lips to John’s forehead. “You need to stop thinking so low of yourself.”

John couldn’t say anything, too filled with emotion to try. He simply held onto the front of Sherlock’s pale blue shirt as he tried to get a hold of himself.

“He’ll be okay, love,” Sherlock whispered against John’s graying, blond hair. “He’s having fun, learning things that we could never teach him.” John began to laugh and Sherlock pulled away slightly to look at him with furrowed brows. “What’s so funny?”

John wiped his eyes again, still smiling brightly. “Did you just admit that you don’t know everything?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Oh, shut up.” He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly to himself.

John smiled and leaned up to kiss him gently. “You’re an idiot.”

“I love you, too,” Sherlock replied.  
John just stared up at him, smiling still. He had finally come to terms with Hamish going away to school; he couldn’t be happier for his son. John had always known that Hamish was going to grow up to be a great man, but he had thought that it would be because of Sherlock. But he had never realized just how big of an impact he had on his son’s life. Not until that day. And he would never forget it.


End file.
